Muted
by Luinlith
Summary: When Sydney Bristow begins to lose herself the comfort of sounds, and a familiar presence, finds her and brings her back. A S/V Vignette.


Muted By Luinlith  
  
When Sydney Bristow begins to lose herself the comfort of sounds, and a familiar presence, finds her and brings her back. A S/V Vignette.  
  
A/N: I was actually picturing this scene in a time when Sydney begins to feel like there's no hope anymore, because I'm sure she feels that often. But this time, she lets her anxieties and fears destroy the Spy Barbie image and she just becomes herself, broken and afraid. And usually when we feel like that, we don't expect anyone to be there. But we all know, someone is there. Just for her. Not as S/V as I'd like it to be, but this is actually more of an angst fic for Sydney than a shipper fic. But a shipper fic, still. Please read, and I hope you enjoy.  
  
***  
  
It was soft sobs at first, catching yourself in ragged breaths, trying to suck the tears back into your eyes. Your chest heaves in quick paces when you feel like you can't breathe anything into your lungs anymore. Then you feel your eyelids tense. You close them tight, so tight they seem to be shaking. Then when you couldn't take it anymore the waterfalls just began to flow. They flowed continuously, not stopping, your throat aching from all the screaming and groaning, your neck drenched with sticky tears that dripped to the top of your black shirt. You balled your hands until your nails made painful indentations on your skin. Then you hugged yourself, bit your lower lip angrily and screamed yourself hoarse.  
  
You believe crying makes you feel better. It gives you this ability to feel again, because sometimes, your job makes you devoid of that ability. Being in this line of work, sometimes you end up convincing yourself that you're always innocent, that stealing priceless artifacts, or killing a man is all part of it. Even if you know you're working for something good, too. It's so tangled and confusing, so wrong. You get so used to it that you don't even feel the remorse anymore. Empty. Hollow and blank, a bottomless pit with no end.  
  
You hear whispers. Silent voices in your brain. You're a devil...no, you're the good guy...good work...why the heck did you do that?...kill him...I'll help you...Freelancer, freelancer...I'm dying...get me, get me, get me...go awaaaaaay...go awaaaaaaaaaaaaay...  
  
Then you scream some more.  
  
Sometimes you wish that the rain would come. Just so that it can drown you out, drown the noise you're making completely out. Just so that you're sure something else is torturing with you, that nature can hear you and is answering your frantic plea. Because when you hear the rain, see it banging furiously on your bedside window, imagine it breaking through the glass and boring holes into your skin, you know you're not alone, that the voices are just background sounds, they don't mean anything, because you're not alone.  
  
Sometimes, you just want someone to be there, you know?  
  
You grab your cellphone, start clicking it furiously. A tear stains the phone's screen. Go to the names list, click the button down, down, down, down, down...you see names, code names in front of you, but in your mind you're reciting who they really are aloud...Sloane, Dixon, Devlin, Dad, Francie, Will, work, university, Vaughn...  
  
Vaughn. Vaughn. Vaughn.  
  
You close your eyes hard, tears continuing to fall, and squeeze the phone on your hands tight, feeling one of your fingers pressing one of the buttons while you hugged yourself even more. Tighter, tighter, your fingers now boring into your arms, your arms opening to hug your legs. What button did you press? You don't care. You don't care. You hate needing to care.  
  
You drop your cellphone.  
  
They don't know who I am. Or they're not allowed to know who I am. All of them, for many different reasons. Many of them can suffer because they care about me. And I don't want them to suffer, or have to waste their time on me. So they can never be there, never be.  
  
You don't stop.  
  
More noises. Ragged and far away. What...where...you...happening...no...don't...why...God...coming...coming...  
  
A few minutes later, you subside. You're staring at your window, but the image in your eyes is blurred. Nothing in your mind. Still empty. Still hollow. Still blank. More than ever.  
  
Soft noises, a beating noise. A knocking noise. Francie, or Will without their keys. How do you explain this? You're a wreck. You think of your lies while you forcefully drag yourself to the door. Not bothering to look at yourself. You know how you look.  
  
You open the door with a smile. Then you stop smiling. As if everything around you had been muted before, a barrage of sounds suddenly envelops you.  
  
The rain, enraged and sharp. Thunder drums and a flash of painful light. And a shadow, drenched, droplets falling from his hair, his chin, his fingers, the sleeves of his jacket, pit-pattering slowly on your front porch. His knuckles are red. His breathing is ragged, just like you.  
  
"Sydney."  
  
He pushes you inside your house and closes the door with a bang. You're almost afraid, because you're weak and you can't do anything. He approaches you with quick steps, reckless steps. You shiver.  
  
He hugs you, crushes you underneath his wet clothes.  
  
"Sydney...Sydney..."  
  
He doesn't stop saying your name. You squeeze yourself tighter into him, making yourself smaller so he can hug you even more. Because that's how you feel. Small.  
  
You start crying. Small. But not alone. 


End file.
